


Open Hands

by INKrediblySketchy



Category: The 100
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3675621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INKrediblySketchy/pseuds/INKrediblySketchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When what we've lost tears us to shreds, who will be there to stitch us back up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost

**Author's Note:**

> Please bear with me; I'm very new to this.

Clarke hadn’t slept in almost forty hours; something she was becoming more aware of by the minute, but she couldn’t seem to pull herself away from the canvas that nearly covered one side of her cluttered bedroom. Paint was smeared all over her arms as well as her tattered ‘Camp Jaha Counselor’ t-shirt she wore, not to mention her hair. But she couldn’t be bothered; she’s been engrossed in this piece since she woke up the previous morning, something inside urging her to put her dream down on canvas.

Her dad’s old CD player stood on her end table by the bed, the melodies of some obscure band loudly filling the room; her attempt at keeping herself awake as the hollow bass drum beat through the walls.

She managed to get a few more strokes on canvas before the CD player abruptly stopped reading the disk, screeching replacing the music she was barely listening to. She scrambled for the device, too tired to switch it off properly so instead just pulling the cord from the wall.

It was only then, in the deafening silence her actions had left, that she heard the sound of glass breaking.

She was wide awake now, running towards her front door without even thinking about what could be waiting for her on the other side. She burst through the door, her eyes scanning the hallway that was filling up with frightened tenants all trying to make sense of the racket.

Two doors down the hall from her own, she spotted Mr. Wallace, who was staring at the apartment across from his with fear and confusion. She walked up to the old man, her eyes following his before she looked back at him.

“Mr. Wallace, you shouldn’t be out here.” She told him.

“The hell I do.” He swore, taking a labored breath to steady himself. “That new girl is breaking the place down.” He nodded his head towards the apartment.

“Mr. Wallace, just go back inside. Lock the door behind you.” She ordered, slowly starting across the hall.

The old man huffed but did as she told him, grumbling something about not getting a deposit back. Most of the other tenants followed suit, and soon Clarke was alone in front of the new girl’s door. She stood there for a full minute, waiting for any sign that the breaking would continue. When it didn’t, she dared to knock.

It didn’t surprise her that no one would answer.

“Is everything alright?” She asked softly. “It’s Clarke, from three-B. Can I come in?” Still no answer. She twisted the doorknob slightly, surprised to find it unlocked. “Hello?”

She opened the door slowly, forcing whatever was blocking it from the inside out of the way and stepping inside as her eyes took in the scene in front of her.

The living room was in chaos; lamps lay toppled, shards of glass were scattered across the deep burgundy carpet by the door, and Clarke was suddenly grateful that she was still wearing her slippers. Every item in the room, it seemed, had taken a hit; everything except a small cardboard box that stood on the coffee table, next to an untouched bottle of Scotch.

Another tentative step inside showed her more of the damage and it was clear that the coffee table was the only untouched piece of furniture, the eye of the storm. There was more broken glass strewn across the rug.

Some stained with blood.

Clarke’s heart started racing, her mind running through every possible scenario as she turned around, looking for whoever had been injured.

The apartment was structurally identical to Clarke’s own; a small living room that flowed into an even smaller kitchen, a single bathroom and a bedroom in the back. And though the living room was a disaster it was clear that whoever lived in the apartment wasn’t hiding in there, so Clarke started towards the bedroom.

She wasn’t surprised to find the mattress upturned, pillows and comforters strewn across the floor. A single red smear was dragged across the closet to her right and she knew it was blood, her eyes darting across the room.

She would have looked right past her if the girl hadn’t needed to catch her breath.

She was sitting on the floor behind the mattress with her back pressed up against the wall, one hand clenched into a bloody fist on her knees, the other lost in her dark hair. Tears stained her cheeks and her grey-green eyes were unfocused, staring down at nothing as though it was all she could see.

“Oh god,” Clarke knelt by her side, gently taking the girl’s wrist in her paint-smeared hands. She was shaking. “What happened?”

A faint whisper vaguely explained “It broke.” Clarke looked up at the girl as a single tear slid down her cheek. Reaching out, she placed a hand to the girl’s cheek, using her thumb to wipe it away. The girl blinked, pulled from the depths of her own mind, and focused her eyes on Clarke, who gave her an encouraging smile.

“What’s your name?” Clarke asked.

“Lexa,” Came another whisper.

“Lexa, we’re going go to my apartment down the hall, okay? I need to take a look at your hand.” Lexa’s nod was almost imperceptible. “Great. You’re going to need to hold onto my shoulders and stand up slowly.”

Lexa stumbled slightly and Clarke reached an arm around her waist, holding her up. Together they maneuvered through the disarray and out the front door, which Clarke helped Lexa lock before continuing down the hall.

Once they were back inside, Clarke settled Lexa on the small blue couch before disappearing into her bedroom. She was back a minute later, all the paint scrubbed from her arms and a first aid kit in hand.

She took a seat on the opposite side of the couch, taking out the few medical supplies she’d need. When she was ready, she reached over and took Lexa’s arm, guiding the injured hand closer to her so she could begin cleaning it.

“This might sting a bit.” Clarke whispered, glancing up to see Lexa watching her with a dejected calm as though pain was nothing new. Clarke looked back down at the cut, her brows furrowed at the thought of what could have happened, knowing she wouldn’t ask.

She’d cleaned and stitched up the cut in a matter of minutes, only by sheer luck that there were no glass shards still imbedded in the skin, and was in the middle of dressing it when Lexa spoke again.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” She said, her voice raw. She couldn’t meet Clarke’s gaze.

“You don’t have to apologize.” Clarke said, fastening the gauze, her fingers unconsciously curling around Lexa’s hand. She looked up, tracing Lexa’s face. Lexa’s eyes were wide, staring at their hands, and Clarke heard rather than saw the girl swallow before she gently tugged her hand out of Clarke’s grasp.

“I should go.” Lexa murmured, lifting herself from the couch.

“You don’t have to.” Clarke said, standing up and taking a small step toward Lexa. “Something upset you and – as much as I want to – I won’t ask, but you need to rest. And honestly, I don’t think you will if you go back tonight.”

Lexa could feel her chest tighten; she knew that Clarke was right. Rest would be next to impossible when all she was surrounded by were memories. So she just nodded, her eyes glued to the floor.

“I laid some clothes out. It’s on the bed, that way.” Clarke continued, pointing over her shoulder. “You can change in there while I make us some tea, okay?

\--

Lexa had reluctantly accepted Clarke’s offer to stay the night, knowing that it would be impossible to still her mind in her own apartment. However, this didn’t make Lexa feel any less that she was intruding as she started towards Clarke’s bedroom.

The door stood open and Lexa could see the neatly folded pile of clothing on the edge of the double bed. She reached for the powder-blue sweater that lay on top, marveling at how soft it felt beneath her fingertips. 

Placing the top back down on the bed, she turned back to close the door behind her, glancing toward the kitchen before the door closed with a soft ‘click’. She stripped, removing the blood-stained shirt and torn jeans, folding them up and placing them in a neat pile on an end table next to an old CD player.

The sweater was a little big and she absently wondered how it fit Clarke’s smaller frame. The grey leggings Clarke had laid out fit her perfectly, though.

She was about to leave, turning towards the bedroom door, when she saw the painting. It was clear that it wasn’t finished yet – the fresh paint meant that Clarke was probably busy with it before everything happened – but Lexa was frozen in awe.

It was their apartment building, or rather the ruins thereof, standing desolate, surrounded by a fluorescent forest threatening to engulf it. Peering above the tree-tops was a crescent moon, big enough to be seen but not to distract from the number of stars and the luminescent plants, while hidden in one of the darker areas of the painting was a two-headed deer.

She must have been standing there for quite some time, seeing that Clarke had come looking for her. There was a soft knock on the door before Clarke’s face appeared in the doorway, a small smile on her lips. “Everything okay?” She asked, taking a few steps into the room when Lexa didn’t move.

Then she saw what Lexa was staring at and she chuckled. “Too weird?” She asked and Lexa looked down at the blonde who was standing with one arm outstretched, holding a cup of tea towards Lexa. “I didn’t know if you wanted sugar or milk.”

She took the cup from Clarke, trying her best not to linger on how warm Clarke’s hands were. It was probably just the tea. Probably. “This is fine, thank you.” She took a small sip of the steaming tea, grateful for the heat flooding her body.

Lexa was still mesmerized by the painting, though as they stood there looking, Lexa could feel Clarke’s eyes on her. She glanced at Clarke; surprised when the blonde didn’t avert her gaze when she was obviously caught staring, but Clarke just smiled a sweet half smile before moving to set her cup down on the nearby dresser.  
“Now, since I don’t know how you feel about sharing,” she said, walking over to and pulling one of the pillows from her bed. Lexa just kept watching her, eyes wide, “you can sleep in here tonight. I’ll be on the couch, if you need anything…at…” her sentence trailed of as she tried to, unsuccessfully, stifle a yawn. The adrenaline had worn off making her exhaustion worse.

“Clarke, it’s—” Lexa murmurs, her thumbs tracing patterns on the cup she still held.

“Sorry.” Clarke didn’t seem to have heard her. “Will you be okay on your own?”

Lexa wanted to say no. She wanted to ask Clarke if she’d stay, to sit with her, at least until she fell asleep. She didn’t want to be alone right now, not with the thoughts and memories swirling through her head.

But Clarke had already done enough opening her doors to her, even if for just one night. So she gave a quick nod and a soft “yes” before turning to place her cup on the end table.  
Clarke was gone by the time she looked back.

\--

It was late.

Or was it early? Lexa couldn’t tell.

She knew she’d gone to bed hours ago, but she hadn’t been able to close her eyes for more than a few minutes before the nightmares started.

They were all about her; about the blood and the boy’s face and how she wasn’t there to save her.

Images burned into her memory playing through her mind in an infinite loop, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t push them away long enough to sleep. So she lay staring at the ceiling instead, counting her breaths.

She heard the bedroom door creak open at three-hundred and seven.

With the dim light of the TV flickering in the other room, Lexa could vaguely make out Clarke’s silhouette peering in. Lexa held her breath, waiting for the girl to say something or move, but she simply stood there. And, for what felt like minutes, Lexa was left wondering why.

It was just as Lexa couldn’t hold out any longer, the girl’s name already falling from her lips that Clarke decided to move, halting when she heard Lexa’s voice.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to see if you were okay.” Clarke apologized, still hanging on the door.

“You didn’t.” Lexa said as she sat up, leaning against the wooden headboard.

“Mind if I come in?” Clarke asked, and Lexa could hear the faint smile in her voice.

“This is your bedroom, Clarke.” The words came out harsher than she intended, but to her surprise Clarke laughed, stumbling over towards the bed and settling herself next to Lexa. She lay back against the headboard, threw her hands onto her lap and despite the dark, Lexa could still see a small smile on her lips.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, by the way.” Clarke said, tilting her head as she smiled at Lexa. “We’ve been neighbors for what, four weeks?”

Lexa stared down at her lap; she didn’t know what she could say to explain why they’ve only just met. Maybe because there was no explanation other than ‘I don’t want anyone to get too close to me because I fear getting them hurt’.

Clarke saw Lexa retreat and she placed a hand on Lexa’s arm. “Hey, all I’m saying is it’s nice to know your name.”

Lexa smiled, and though short-lived, it was real.

They settled into an odd but comfortable silence after that, both content with just having someone nearby, and it wasn’t long before Lexa managed to drift into a dreamless sleep. It was only later that she’d recall Clarke moving her into a more comfortable position and tucking her in under the covers before she disappeared once more.


	2. Simply You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been over a year, I know.. Time sort of got away from me (college, graduation, moving, getting my first full time job, moving again, two puppies and a girlfriend too). Add the fact that I've rewritten the end of this chapter for a few months already before just deciding to remove it altogether...
> 
> Hopefully I'll be a little more inspired to try writing more often now that that's been taken care of.
> 
> Anyways, here goes Chapter 2...

Clarke loved her old blue couch; it had been a gift from her father to her mother when they had first moved in together and it’s been with them ever since.

But that didn’t make it the most comfortable couch to sleep on; she considered herself lucky that she was too exhausted to really care.

She was sound asleep, the morning sun kept at bay by thick curtains, when there was a soft knock at the front door. She stirred, not quite willing to leave the comfort and warmth of the blanket she’d nestled herself into. But the knocking was becoming more incessant until eventually she heaved herself from the small couch, the blanket still pulled tightly around her shoulders.

She turned the key and slid the chain from the lock, opening the door to Finn’s smiling face.

“Good morning, Princess.” He chuckled, leaning against the door’s frame, his eyes twinkling.

Groggy as she was, she couldn’t help but smile, croaking a pleasant “hey” as she pulled him in for a hug.

“What, no ‘good morning kiss’?” He joked as she let him inside, softly closing the door behind him.

“Give me a minute to wake up.” She laughed, walking to the kitchen and pulling three mugs from the cabinet.

“Sure you just need a minute? Clarke, there’re only two of us.” He said, willing himself not to laugh as he mentioned to the extra mug, taking a seat at the counter.

Clarke looked up with a mischievous smirk, raising a single eyebrow at Finn whose jaw simply dropped.

“You’re joking.” He said, more to himself than Clarke. “Right?”

Clarke just shook her head, grinning from ear to ear. “Quiet, you’re going to wake her up.”

“ _Her_?” He whispered, leaning forward as Clarke was pouring hot water into two of the mugs.

“Can you calm down? She’s—” The bedroom door creaked open. Finn could barely keep his curiosity to himself, swinging around in his seat to get a good look. “Awake.”

Lexa just finished tying her hear back, struggling a bit with her injured hand, when she froze, hands dropping to her sides, her eyes glancing from Clarke to the boy with the mop of dark hair watching her from the counter.

“Lexa, hey.” Clarke smiled, reaching over and lightly swatting Finn’s arm. He turned himself back around; busying himself with the cup of coffee Clarke had placed in front of him. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine, thank you.” She folded her arms around her body, very aware of the fact that she was wearing Clarke’s clothes and noticing that the boy kept glancing at her.

“I’m glad.” Clarke smiled. “Sorry, uhm, this is my boyfriend, Finn,” she pointed a thumb in his direction. “He doesn’t usually show up this early.”

“It’s ten in the morning.” He argued playfully, turning to Lexa with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry for busting in.”

Lexa gave a small nod, not altogether comfortable talking to a guy who was blatantly staring at her in her underdressed state. She hadn’t meant to stay this late, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that she hadn’t slept this well in weeks.

“Do you want some coffee? Or tea?” Clarke asked, mentioning to the additional mug on the counter.

“No, thank you. I should actually go. I have to start cleaning up at some point.”

“Oh, sure. If you need help or anything—”

“I’ll be alright. Besides, you have a guest,” Lexa gave Finn a tight smile before turning back towards the bedroom.

She removed Clarke’s clothes and replaced them with her own, not bothered by the blood stains in the slightest. After folding the discarded clothing and placing them where she’d first found them, Lexa turned and took one final look at Clarke’s unfinished painting, memorizing as much of it as she could, knowing she’d probably never see the finished piece.

She was never really good with goodbyes, so she simply offered Clarke a sincere ‘Thank you’ on her way to the door, her lips curling of their own accord when Clarke smiled her way.

\--

Lexa spent the better part of the day rearranging her furniture while trying not to pull her stitches out.

She didn’t know how or when, but at some point she’d picked up the cardboard box, locking it away in an empty drawer in her bedroom.

She didn’t plan on seeing it anytime soon.

\--

“Yeah, I’ll call you when I hear anything.” Clarke answered, turning the key to lock her door as the person on the other end told her not to forget. “I promise. Look—” The topic changed and she realized that if she didn’t hang up now, she’d never leave. Having to answer the call had already annoyed her and she knew she wouldn’t make it through another conversation of forced-friendliness. “That’s great. But, Mom, I’m actually on my way out.” The voice on the other end went quiet for a moment.

“ _Okay, baby. We’ll talk again soon, okay?_ ” The woman sounded hopeful.

Instead of answering, Clarke simply ended the call, shoving her phone into her pocket before crossing over to Lexa’s apartment.

A part of her was nervous to find a similar scene to the night before, but she shoved the thought away.

She knocked on the door twice, listening as Lexa’s footsteps neared until the door was unlocked and opened. It took all of one second for Clarke to forget how to speak when she saw Lexa.

She was barefoot, wearing a simple white tank top and dark jeans, her hair cascading down her shoulders in damp ringlets and her skin flushed from a recent shower. It was her eyes, though, no longer the grey-green of the night before but instead a darker blue widened in surprise that caught Clarke off-guard.

And Clarke was staring.

She opened her mouth but she couldn’t make a sound.

Lexa, who’d been waiting patiently for Clarke to say something – anything, quirked an eyebrow, the hint of a smile on her lips at the sight of Clarke gaping like a fish out of water.

“Did you need something, Clarke?”

That seemed to jar Clarke back to reality. “No no, I just—I wanted to check in.” She smiled.

“And maybe ask if you’d like to get some coffee? You sort of bolted this morning.”

“Don’t you have any plans with your boyfriend?” Lexa asked, wincing internally at how dismissive she’d sounded. But Clarke didn’t seem to notice her tone.

“Nope,” she said popping the ‘p’. Lexa seemed confused by this, so she explained. “I told him I want to have coffee with my neighbor, to apologize for not warning her that he tends to show up out of the blue.”

Lexa tried to ignore the heat that was flooding her cheeks, casting a quick glance over her shoulder into her apartment before stepping aside. “Give me two minutes and we can go.” She said, tilting her head towards the living room, a silent gesture of welcome.

Clarke stepped inside and Lexa closed the door behind her. “I’ll only be a moment.” Lexa said, turning and heading towards her bedroom.

“Take your time.” She called, not looking back at Lexa when she did. She was staring at the living room, amazed to find no sign of the previous night’s events.

The brown leather couches had been rearranged around the coffee table near a large window with pristine white curtains. The coffee table itself had been cleared, the Scotch having been placed on a nearby shelf next to a set of car keys and an impressive number of books with more impressive titles. The cardboard box was nowhere to be seen.

Neither were any photographs of Lexa or her family or friends. It made the room feel like a stage; a temporary set where people would play out false lives, ready to be torn down at a moment’s notice and it made Clarke worry.

Lexa came back right before Clarke could dwell on the matter.

“You ready to go?” Clarke asked as Lexa tugged at the hem of her dark-grey jacket. She was no longer barefoot, either, having slipped on a pair of flat black ankle boots. If not for Lexa’s big blue eyes, her curly hair and the fact that she’d spent the night in her apartment, Clarke might have thought her somewhat dangerous.

“Yes.” She answered, reaching for her keys on the shelf. “I’ll drive.”

“No need. The place is actually just down the block. Unless you mind walking…”

Lexa smirked as she placed the keys back on the shelf. She tilted her head towards the door, noticing Clarke’s quirked brow and lopsided grin. “After you.”

\--

They didn’t say anything during the short walk down the street.

Lexa didn’t find it uncomfortable at all, taking in the sights and sounds of the city around her. It was a stark contrast to the mountains and forests back home.

Clarke, however, would probably have preferred conversation; every now and then Lexa would see her open her mouth to say something, and each time she would either stop herself and frown or cover it up with a soft sigh.

Part of her wanted to say something, to save Clarke from the words she kept swallowing, but small talk had never been her forte. And by then they were already at the coffee shop, so she opted for saying nothing.

Lexa wasn’t surprised that she’d never seen the little shop before now. It was nestled in between two towering apartment buildings, the only thing giving it away being the worn out ‘Specials’ board out front and a faded sign that read _Monty’s Joe_ in bold print.

 _Quaint_ , Lexa thought as they stepped inside, a small smile on her lips, following Clarke through the front door.

She was sitting at the table, absently staring out the window. Clarke had offered to order their drinks, smiling when Lexa told her she’d like a simple hot chocolate with little marshmallows.

She turned her gaze in Clarke’s direction, seeing her standing with their drinks, talking to the barista. Clarke cast a quick glance at Lexa before turning back and pointing to something on the counter. Her curiosity was piqued when the guy smiled, giving her a nod before handing her a couple of paper napkins.

Though Clarke’s back was half turned towards her, Lexa could see Clarke grinning as she took the pen the barista had offered and started scribbling on the napkin.

She knew she shouldn’t care, but the sinking feeling had already settled in her chest. The only explanation Lexa could think of was that the barista had asked for Clarke’s number. Of course, it was none of her business – though it might be Finn’s – so she chose to look away instead.

Moments later Clarke was sliding into her seat across from Lexa, silently offering her the cup of hot chocolate.

Lexa kept her gaze on the table; she could feel Clarke staring.

She only noticed the napkin when she lifted her mug, prying it from the bottom, her eyes glued to the four little words written in cursive blue letters.

_**Cat got your tongue?** _

She looked up quickly, only to find an amused Clarke – raised eyebrows and all – holding a pen out towards her.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Clarke said, dipping the pen towards a small stack of paper napkins to her left, “I brought extras.”


End file.
